They gave her another few moments alone at the grave, then Frell finally spoke. “The day is already half gone, and we have a long way to trek to reach Havensfayre. We should continue while we still can.”
Jace stepped to Nyx. “Or we can stay longer here, if you wish.”
She faced them, her countenance sad but resolute. “No, Bashaliia gave his life for ours. I won’t waste the gift he gave us. We keep going.”
Kanthe studied her. He had long given up searching for any resemblance in her, trying to discern if she might truly be his half-sister. What did it matter? Only seeing her now, covered in blood yet still strong, he could not imagine she shared his lineage.
Not even Mikaen had ever shown such hidden steel.
Surprisingly, such a realization made him happy for her. And if he was honest, he hoped Nyx wasn’t his sister. For more reasons than just—
“Let’s go,” Frell said, tugging Kanthe around. “If we make good time, we could be at Heilsa by midday tomorrow. Then Havensfayre by the last bell of Eventoll.”
They set off again, following the sliver of lodestone in the alchymist’s wayglass, and headed north.
Kanthe trailed at the back, bow in hand, an arrow already notched. He had heard many tales from Bre’bran—the Reach hunter who had instructed him two years ago—about the dangers hidden within the beauty of this ancient forest. Bre’bran had warned how Cloudreach lulled the unwary into lowering their guard—with the sweet piping of birdsong, the dabble of its silver brooks, the breath of wind through leaves. Even the unbroken layer of clouds stirred languidly above, casting a mesmerizing spyll, enhanced by wisps of mists drifting like the dreams of those below.
More so, the forest itself drew the eye with its beauty. It refused to be ignored. In all directions spread a march of huge alder trunks, each as wide as a full-grown ox. These eternal mist-giants were the white pillars of the forest. They held up the sky and vanished into the clouds. From their many layers of branches, golden-green leaves flickered with each breeze, whispering at them in the unknown language of the ancient forest.
Under that ghostly canopy, a patchwork of dark green copses marked stands of spruce and pine. Lower still, the forest floor was blanketed in leaf and needle, with stretches of pink fireweed poking through. Every rock and boulder was scribed with lichen in bright patterns of scarlet, crimson, emerald, and sapphire. The bushes were a mix of juniper, chokeberry, buckbrush, even scrabbly winterroses.
He watched a burst of a dozen ruby wings rush through high branches, long tails flicking black, then silver, as if signaling the forest ahead of their approach. Then, as if drawn in the flock’s wake, smaller birds, plumed in copper and gold, arrowed after the others, piping down at the trespassers, scolding them.
Rustling to Kanthe’s right drew his attention.
He looked down in time to spot a bevy of spotted pluck-quails race across the leaf litter, tiny dobbins bobbing atop their heads. He swung his bow up, hoping to spear one, maybe two. But they vanished into the underbrush before he could set his aim.
He began to lower his bow—then his heart pounded with recognition.
All the birds had been aiming in the same direction. Ahead of us. He glanced over his shoulder. The forest stared back, as blank-faced as ever. Had something roused them, panicked them into flight, more than the tread of their footfalls?
He turned to the group.
Nyx …
Her clothing was still damp with blood.
He breathed harder, his ears straining for any soft padding of paws or grumble of threat. He heard nothing but was not fooled. Whatever boon had kept the forest’s predators away had ended, broken by the allure of fresh blood in the air. Something had picked up that scent and trailed them.
He rushed forward to the others. They sensed his distress and turned.
“We’re being hunted,” he warned.
Jace searched all around, clutching his spear to his chest.
Frell frowned back at their trail. “Are you sure? By what?”
Kanthe had no answer to either question, only a certainty in his bones. He had been a hunter for too long to ignore this instinct.
Nyx stared at him, seeming to accept his word. “What do we do?”
He winced and pointed at her. “You need to shed your bloody garb.”
She stared down at herself.
“Everything,” he stressed. “Anything with even a drop.”
She didn’t balk. She stripped her soiled cloak and loosened the cords on her tunic and yanked it over her head. She stood in her breeches, soft boots, and a sleeveless undertunic. The last was speckled with blood that had seeped down to it. With a huff, she reached to pull it over her head.
Jace dropped his spear, unfurled his own cloak, and hid her nakedness behind it. He kept his head turned away.
Kanthe nabbed what she had already discarded and ran to either side of their path and tossed one piece in each direction. He returned to catch her undertunic as she tossed it to him.
He lifted it to his mouth and clamped it between his teeth. The scent of her sweat and skin filled his nostrils.
Jace frowned at him. “What are you—？”
He brusquely waved the question away, turned to the nearest alder, and scaled its lower branches. He climbed as high as he could, then tacked the garment to the trunk with one of his arrows. He prayed that what stalked them might be deceived into believing its prey was hiding up the tree, at least long enough for them to get away.
He dropped back down and snapped a branch from a spruce. He handed it to Nyx, who now wore Jace’s cloak. “Smear your hands with the sap, to mask any blood still lingering there.”
As she did, Kanthe herded them all forward. “Swiftly now. I don’t know how much freedom this will buy us.”
They hurried off, with Kanthe hanging back, still watching the quiet forest. He held his breath for long stretches, straining for any sign of pursuit. He stopped with his bow up when he heard a faint snap of a branch far in the forest.
He listened harder but heard nothing else.
You’re still out there, aren’t you.
Scowling, he headed after the others, who had fled a ways. By the time he closed on them, he heard whispers of distress, along with a low burble of water. The others had reached a small river, running along stony banks and lined by yellow willows on both sides.
He arrived in time to see Jace down on one knee, filling a waterskin.
Frell’s eyes widened as Kanthe joined them. “Anything?”
“Not that I could spot. The bastard’s a sly one, I’ll give him that.” He pointed across the river. “Maybe once we’re across, we can—”
Jace bellowed and fell backward from the river’s edge, landing on his backside. The waterskin he had been filling drifted away from the bank, floating atop the current.
Nyx stepped toward him. “What happened?”
“Stay back,” Jace warned. “Something leaped at me, tried to bite my hand, but latched on to the hide instead and pulled it away.”
He pointed at the bobbing waterskin, which jerked and turned in the current, as if attacked from below.
Something’s clearly in the water.
Kanthe tried to peer through the river’s mirror into its depths. As he leaned, a heavy crashing of brush burst behind him.
He spun around.